


Grigri

by bonehandledknife (ladywinter), Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)



Series: The Mountains Are The Same [19]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Buckle Up Kids We're Going To The Feels Place, Feeling Feels is hard OK?, Gen, Warboys dealing with a post-Joe world, implied past Immortan Joe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4813763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladywinter/pseuds/bonehandledknife, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/Primarybufferpanel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grigri—a belay device with an auto-locking mechanism to catch a climber's fall.</p>
<p>Austeyr thought it was better that the Boss slept through tonight, anyway. Both Kompass and Rachet had gone off somewhere, probably holed up in whatever ledges or hidey-holes they favoured these days. Given the way they'd both been vibrating with tension, that was probably for the best. The conversation with Ace had really rattled them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kompass

_ "Hey, Max is off the ledge. Bet he didn't plan to be sleeping there. Ace, do you want to sit with her? ...okay, then I will." _

Max made an inquiring sound at the light jostling of bodies settling in. Somebody made comforting humming sounds, and there was a warm weight against him with the soft, slow rhythm of breathing. And that was important, the breathing, but his subconscious found nothing alarming, no reason to wake, and so and he sank into deeper sleep again. 

 

* * *

 

It wasn't late in the evening, but none of them had gotten much sleep, so Austeyr had settled in next to the Wastelander, his forehead pressed against the Boss' forearm. He'd been surprised to see the man on the mattress, but pleased - it got cold at night, and Aus liked to have everybody close. If the man was ready to join them all, Aus wasn't going to tell him to get back on the ledge. 

At some point the man tapped him on the arm, and Austeyr looked up to see him look... twitchy, and restless. The Boss was still asleep, leaned against him, and Aus sat up. 

"Want me to take her?" he breathed. The Boss looked like she was breathing easier for being a bit more upright, but the Wastelander clearly needed to move. 

He grunted, and Austeyr positioned himself next to him so they could gently transfer Furiosa, Max's hand cupped behind her head to support it. Austeyr had known the man cared about her, had wanted to make extra sure Austeyr himself meant her well, but seeing this, the gentleness in this half-feral man, was still a surprise. 

"Mmm?" the Boss hummed, not really waking, and Max made a soothing little hum, leaned in to brush a kiss against her forehead and then twitched back, seemed surprised at his own actions. 

"We've got you, Boss, no need to wake up," Aus soothed. 

Max muttered something about catching up with the sisters, and left. 

Austeyr thought it was better that the Boss slept through tonight, anyway. Both Kompass and Rachet had gone off somewhere, probably holed up in whatever ledges or hidey-holes they favoured these days. Given the way they'd both been vibrating with tension, that was probably for the best. The conversation with Ace had really rattled them all. 

Ace had come in long enough to reassure the Boss was all right, then left to come back an hour or so later. He'd settled down on a cushion on the other side of the room, an unusual amount of space between the Boss and himself

 

* * *

 

Kompass wedged himself deep into the alcove. He'd needed to be far away, been halfway to the barracks, but had gotten restless when he'd gone down too many levels, feeling like he needed to stay - well, near the Boss. Not easily findable, but within earshot if there should be shouting, if anybody should try to— if she should be attacked.  

His head was pounding, and he felt like you did when waking up from Nightfevers, hot and cold and light in the head, your lips numb, like everything was  _ wrong _ . Only waking up from Nightfevers meant waking up to a world that was  _ right _ .

Nothing was right, now. He didn't know even where to start, random snippets of thoughts kept floating up in his mind.   

_ "Did she tell you that? That she loved Joe? That he was gentle?" _

Kompass flinched all over again at the memory of the redhead's voice, because all he'd been able to think was 'I  _ wanted  _ him to have been'. He couldn't imagine who'd want to be cruel to the Boss; and the man he'd looked up to, saluted, revered, would have treasured her. The man who’d he’d tried to be worthy of should have seen her worth. His stomach roiled all over again with the memory of the faces of the women. 

_ "And what do you think that 'treasuring'  _ _**means** _ _ , huh? He forced us.  _ _**Hurt** _ _ us." _

It was Kompass' role to make sure new crew didn't make the Boss uncomfortable. It had always taken time before she gave Ace or Kompass the nod that they'd be welcome in her quarters, and once they were, more time before she would accept them near her. They were not to touch her before she reached for them, not to lay on her, not to do any of the things they might do with the breeders. He'd always thought of it in terms of respect - the Boss was not there for their Use, it was the other way around, and he'd enforced that for her like he would have enforced saluting the V8. Pulled guys away when they got too eager, grasped at her, touched her too roughly, pinned her with their weight. 

“ _The Vault hurt. He made us bleed...”_

Now he remembered the frozen look when one new guy had caged her in with his body and his arms, grazed her breast with his teeth. She hadn't been offended, he realizes now —  she'd been  _ afraid _ , eyes darting at them all as if they would take that guy’s side, and once Kompass had gotten rid of him she'd curled up between Ace and him and just breathed quietly for a long time. At the time they'd thought she was too angry to want anything from them that night. 

“ _ Joe doesn’t stop _ .”

She'd needed that protection from him  _ against Joe _ . She hadn't been treasured, gentled, honoured. She'd needed someone to watch over her, take her side, and make sure she was all right and Kompass  _ hadn't been there _ . What is a Warboy’s role but to throw himself in-between their Imperator and harm? To sacrifice themselves for something bigger than each individual, or someone greater than themselves, someone a higher level, step, tier. Pedestal.

The idea that he hadn't, that it had been pain and fear, that he hadn't shielded her— even though part of him knew he couldn't possibly have — and that she hadn't even been free of that even when she'd no longer been a Wife.

“ _You don’t get it, you run strong, you run tall. If you’re not, or your engine’s running down, the Mechanic he—”_

And not only the Boss, but others too, apparently; how had he not known about Organic? How had he watched over her, multiple times even, as she woke up in the Blood Shed, and not understood? He'd thought she was remembering losing her arm, or losing the Immortan's child. On her orders even, he'd made sure none of their crew was ever alone with Organic.  _ How  _ could he not have seen that Rachet, Sprocket, Sump and some of the others were in danger there? How could he have failed to protect them?

He feels like he’d missed a catch when someone’s reaching, turned a second too slow. Been in the right place but hadn't understood his purpose there, like a greenhand crew member with an arm full of lances acting like a lookout. 

He shouldn’t have had even the presumption to think that he could lead a Tenday, must have made such a mess of it, couldn’t even figure out how foolish he must have looked.  

He startled as he heard light footsteps come up. One of the women Furiosa had brought back from the desert. Janey. 

Women had always been either breeders or milkers or wretched, with the Boss in a category all of her own. Kompass still wasn't sure where Janey and Miss Gale belonged. She was more like Ace than like any woman he'd ever met, giving commands that you followed before you'd even thought about it. 

She sat down in the wide windowsill a couple metres away, and Kompass clenched his teeth, because she had to know he was there, and anyone else would have left him to it. He knew he looked angry even if he wasn’t trying. He hadn't purposely set out to intimidate the widows the day before, but there was a satisfaction in being given a wide berth, especially when his head felt as full as it did now. 

" _ What _ ," he ground out.

She gave him a raised-brows look. 

He shoved out of his alcove and in her direction, hoping to send her running like he might have done with a pup, but she didn't budge. When he'd come to a halt, just out of arms reach, she turned her eyes back to the open Wasteland visible out of the barred window, as if he was no threat at all.  

"You ever feel closed in, here?"

"Huh?"

"Spent the past four thousand days in the desert. All this rock, it just ain't right."

"So why come here?"

She shrugged, pulling her legs up until she was sideway in the window ledge. Pulled out a whetstone, showed it to him to indicate what she was about to do, then pulled out a knife to work on. 

"Our Furiosa came back, needed our help."

Kompass blinked at her. 

" _ Your  _ Furiosa? And who are you to claim her?"

"Her people, lad. The Vuvalini. Knew her when she was a little hellion on a sandbike." 

Kompass was curious about this unknown piece of the Boss despite himself. 

"I didn't know she had people."

"Oh yeah. Used to have a Clan in the Green Place, mothers, sisters, a dad, too. Got kidnapped not long after she was Initiated. They razed our harvests and chopped our trees and kidnapped our girls."

"Kid..napped?" he repeated the unfamiliar word. 

"People are not things, lad. You can't steal people."

"Oh."

She'd been taken by Warboys. To be a Wife. Taken from a green place where there'd been trees and water. Not a better life, not like some of the Wretched who gave their daughters in the hope they'd lead a better life. Not an honour, as he'd always thought. Not to be Treasured and Protected by Joe, lavished with his welcome attentions. 

She'd been taken by Warboys, to be hurt and afraid and— he remembered the silvery lines on her stomach, the scars, he remembered the new Wife they'd taken to the Citadel, he remembered watching the Boss walk her to the lift platform, her face grim and her hand on the girl's arm and he mostly remembered the long dark hair in the little ropes but her skin— was that— she looked different with the hair cut off but was that the Widow called Toast —  _ no wonder the Widows looked at them with suspicion _ .  

“ _Every moment in there is more cold and more dark and more afraid…”_

The Boss had had to lead a new girl through the same— it must have been a nightmare - experience what she herself must have experienced all those years ago, knowing what was coming — Ace and Sprocket had slept in her quarters that night, and even though there weren't generally secrets between crew, what one knew they all needed to know, they'd refused to speak of it. 

“ _Don’t hassle the boss right now. “  
_ “ _Eh?”  
_ “ _She’s feeling poorly, after delivering the new Wife.”  
_ “ __Ah, missing him again?”

How had he not seen that? Everywhere he turned was a new slide into horror at the extend of how wrong they'd been, how wrong  _ he _ 'd been. Like up was down and Aqua Cola was sand and Treasuring was pain and blood. 

He snapped to attention when the woman - Janey, her name was Janey - held out a metal flask to him.

"Lot to think about, eh? Here, try some."

He'd expected the weird, strong tea he'd seen them drink before, but the scent of it went straight up his nose, and she chuckled. He took a cautious sip and almost startled. It was nothing like the harsh guzzoline-flavoured rotgut the Warboys made for themselves. It tasted smooth and green, and he was oddly reminded of that tiny sip of sweet Valhalla flavoured liquor Furiosa had shared with her crew years ago. Strange because the taste was nothing alike. 

"You did good, with the ceremony," she said, gaze to the outside. "I think people needed… needed that."

Kompass hummed noncommittally, and shifted. Ran his eyes along the walls to their sides. 

"Tried to do it… as good as the Immortan woulda done," he grunted. 

She was silent for a while, and he took another small sip. 

"You think that's how ole Joe would've done it?"

Kompass looked down at the flask in his hand. Would the Immortan have welcomed the women? Let them Remember? It had seemed like the best option at the time. Maybe he'd been wrong? He normally looked to Ace when he hesitated, but after Ace had been so wrong about the Boss, had let them all be so wrong, he wasn't confident about the man's judgement anymore than he was about his own. 

"How well did you know Joe?" Janey asked, drawing him up from his thoughts. 

"Oh,  like crew. He spoke to us a lot." 

She moved as in surprise. 

"Really? What did he say?"

"That we were his half-life Warboys… that he made us in his image… I remember a few times he told us stories, about how he'd come to be Immortan," Kompass said. "That we would ride with him, and McFeast with him, on the highways of Valhalla."

It was strange, trying to think of it like this he felt like he was forgetting things. He knew the Immortan better than that, he was certain of it. 

"But you didn't know him the way you know your crewmates?"

But he  _ did _ , did he not? There were all these things he just knew. That the Immortan would treasure his Wives, not hurt them. Give everybody the role that best fit them, so they could be Useful to the Citadel. Was merciful to the Wretched, even though they didn't deserve it. Gave everybody exactly what they needed; no more, but also no less. 

He just couldn't remember how he'd come to know them. 

"Do you really think Joe would have let the women speak, today?"

His mouth was already opening to say yes but then he remembered how Joe would parade his wives at the balcony and then quickly move them away. Remembered the hard set of Furiosa’s jaw after she came back from meetings with him. Kompass slowly shook his head. No, maybe…

Maybe the Immortan wouldn't have. But maybe he should have?

They were both silent for what felt like a long time. 

"I'm glad she had you," Janey said, eyes on the Wasteland outside. "Not glad she got taken, never. But if that did have to happen, I'm glad she found you lads. It's good that she had people."

Kompass gave back the flask, worrying the strange liquor was making his sight blurry. 

His throat worked, torn between keeping everything safely inside his head and making this woman understand how wrong she was. 

"Doesn't seem like it was good," he finally managed. "We just fucked up."

"Did you actually get it wrong? Or did you get it right but for the wrong reasons?"

"Mediocre," he muttered, because that sounded a lot like 'You tried' and that was never good enough.

Kompass pictured her, the first time he'd come face to face. It had been in the Pits, before he got picked for the War Rig crew under Imperator Xe. She'd been a scout at the time, a permanent scowl under her war paint, something unholy in her eyes, something feral. He remembered thinking her name fit her well. The Warboys had given her a wide berth, and it was only now that he wondered if that hadn't been the point. 

When they faced off against each other, she'd fought with a viciousness that he hadn't been prepared for, nearly taking off his head before he could get his bearings in the fight. 

Kompass had been used to good-natured scuffles and sparring, the occasional harder scrap in the Pits. Fighting had never been difficult for him; nobody'd ever been vicious with him, perhaps for fear of getting his anger in return. But he hadn't been ready for Furiosa's level of intensity, the way she'd given him no breathing room, taken any advantage and pushed it, had had him scrambling to keep up with her speed. She fought like her back was against the wall and there was no one coming to relieve her. The screaming and chanting from the spectators -  _ Shred her! Shred her! _ \- had maybe proven her right in that. 

He hadn't completely embarrassed himself, taken her to the ground and let his heavier weight help control her, held his own for a while, but once she got her legs braced and metal fingers around his throat it had been over.  

The crowd that had been screaming for him to shred her just moments ago had roared her name in approval as she stood victorious, something wild and angry in her eyes as she warily watched if he'd come back at her. 

She hadn't been close to anybody before she'd been given the War Rig, and remembering that moment, he didn't wonder why. Something had changed for her, when she'd gotten the Rig, when she'd gotten the team. He couldn't remember when he'd last seen that look in her eyes, as if at any moment she was ready to chrome herself and take you down with her. She'd changed. Seemed steadier, calmer. Happier? Maybe?

At least, that's what he'd thought until she decided to sacrifice them all to her suicidal escape plans. 

" ‘Mediocre’? Isn't that for Furiosa to decide?"

He grunted noncommittally. 

"I certainly didn't expect Warboys to take such good care of her," she continued. "It's been a relief to know you lads are lookin' after her. I’ve seen the way you Boys hover."

"That's just what crew does," he dismissed. "Be there for the Imperator. Anything they need; if a bullet comes, you _ take _ it for her."

"Yeah, I heard about that," she said softly, concern in her eyes. "That's just how it works with an Imperator's crew, is it?"

Kompass glanced at her, an uneasy feeling in his stomach.  _ This again, _ they're worried about the crew hurting Furiosa. 

"We don't do anything she doesn't want us to." He shifted, because that wasn't  _ quite  _ true, they made her drink milk and take medicine and stay under blankets when she wanted to fling them off. 

"I believe you," Janey nodded. "I'm not worried about that."

_ She wasn't?  _ Kompass gave his head a small shake of confusion. 

"Is an Imperator the only one who gets to say no?"

Kompass blinks, because how does this woman think being on a crew  _ works?  _ You follow orders, or you might as well go live with the Wretched. 

"We're… her _crew_. We follow orders."

Her face does something complicated, as if that's not the answer she was hoping for, and he's so confused. “You don’t get to refuse anything? Even in her quarters? Anything at all?”

"Oh, you mean  _ sexing _ ," it dawns on him suddenly. 

She nods. "You follow orders?"

"Boss always said 'Only if you want to'. There is.. there  _ was _ .. crew who didn't want to at all. Or didn’t like certain things," Kompass shrugged, “she'd just let each do however much they want.”

The woman nodded, face clearing up, and Kompass was relieved he'd managed to say what she'd wanted to hear. He was still confused why it was so important. The Boss always listened when they had something important to say. 

_ "Would you," Ace said, turning to Rachet, "would any of us, have been able to Hear her?" _

They'd taken care of her, tried their best, but apparently not good enough to know what she hadn't been able to tell them. 

The image of her face above him came to him, her naked body, the first time she'd let anyone inside of her, a look he'd thought was hesitation about his worthiness and now... and now recognised as  _ fear _ . The way she'd needed to have Ace and Boker make sure he wouldn't move, would let her go at whatever pace she wanted— could stand— the way she'd trembled. 

She hadn't come, and he hadn't understood that, why do it if it didn't feel good for her? They'd all of them been plenty willing to do the things she enjoyed until she was exhausted. But she'd made satisfied sounds anyway, and she'd curled up against his side after, her face hidden into his shoulder and her hand petting his chest as if to thank him. Had that been— had she never before— what if that had been the first time she had ever  _ wanted  _ a prick inside of her? 

He couldn't even _ think  _ about the honour of being chosen for it.

Janey shifted, and Kompass startled to attention, uncomfortably aware of what he'd just been thinking about. He hoped his paint was still thick enough to hide the sudden warmth in his face. 

“You look to me like someone who’s been tearing himself up about what was in his head while his hands were doing the right things," she said. 

He grunted noncommittally. 

"Why don't you go see what she thinks? If she blames you for not knowing what she couldn't tell you?" 

Kompass suddenly wasn't sure who was with the Boss. Austeyr had gone back to her quarters, hadn't he? Was the Wastelander there too? He should go check on her. 

"I gotta—" he gestured 'away' and she nodded. 

"Thanks for the—" he gestured at the flask, and walked away. 

 

* * *

 

There was an odd atmosphere in the Boss' quarters, and for the first time since it had all happened Kompass considered heading down to the barracks to sleep in his own chilly, damp alcove. On the mattress was Austeyr, his back against the wall and with Furiosa leaning against him, slumbering. She'd been needing to cough a lot, and being a bit more upright seemed to help her. 

On the other side of the room was the Ace, cleaning weapons with rote, mindless motions, eyes unseeing. 

Kompass hesitated for a long moment, and then kicked off his boots and crawled onto the mattress. Went over to Austeyr and Furiosa and nestled in on his side alongside her, his head pillowed on Austeyr's tucked up shin, his forehead pressed against the outside of her thigh and one hand curled over her knee. Austeyr patted his shoulder in greeting. 

Furiosa hummed and her hand came down to rest on his head, idly stroking at the fuzz he hadn't shaved in days. He pressed his face against the skin just under the seam of her loose sleep shorts and took what felt like his first real breath all day. 

  



	2. Rachet

When Rachet pushed from the wall and walked around the altar, he found himself taken aback by a woman, desert covered and in desert colored clothing, picking up the stray milk bottles left from earlier that Tenday. He ducked back behind the altar and watched her for awhile, but he couldn’t make sense of it. She were picking up bottles, sloshing them clean with a bit of aqua cola and carefully pouring the cleaning water into a bucket. The bottles went into baskets. 

Rachet glanced around the room nervously and with a start realized there were another Wretched, in a different shadow of the room, doing the same.

“Y’done staring yet?” That women spoke up behind him, and Rachet jumped, spun, backed up only to nearly crash into the Altar and he caught himself just in time.

“I…” He breathed in and oriented himself, “what are you doing? Don’t those bottles go back to Stuffs and the storage?”

“Yeah,” the woman stared at him, “who do you think does all that?”

“ The Wre— but you’re not allowed in the Citadel!” Rachet looked around quickly, as he sensed movement, “...’weren’t’ allowed, I mean  _ now  _ you are, I mean.”

“Calm, boy,” the other woman said, not looking up from her work.

“I’m Desperate,” the first woman said.

“I’m… sorry?” Rachet didn’t know what to do with that, did she want some more aqua cola? “There’s taps nearby? I can help get—”

She started laughing, “No, you’re hearing wrong: I’m Desperate, that’s my name.” 

“I’m…... sorry?” Rachet thought that was even more confusing honestly, Warboy names were usually chosen for strength, for things that are chrome or would take you there. What advantage would it be to be named as such as Desperate? “Ey, can I call you Des?”

The woman blinked and thought about it, “Could fit. I’ll try it on some and see.” She walked past him finally, a small basket of bottles at her hip and dropped off the containers with another two.

Rachet followed, curious, then bent and handed her a stray milkbottle, “So you gather the bottles in trade with Stuffs?”

“It’s not like Warboys bother to pick up after themselves.” Des sniffed, but nodded to him in thanks as she took the container from him and went back to her bucket, picking it up to go towards more things to clean. 

He needed to get back to the Boss, but his insides squirmed uneasily at the thought. At being unable to have seen he'd left her on her ledge, with Joe. The ball of fabric sat heavy in his pocket. 

He wasn't sure how she would look at him now, if she even would at all. 

Rachet glanced around and thought the water in Des’ bucket was getting kinda high, he automatically moved towards it to pick it up but her hand snapped out to push his hand away.

“Hey! Didn’t say you could go takin’ that!”

“I just wanted to help empty it out! Use it for washing down the ledges?”

She shoved him away harder, “ ‘Empty it out’?!”

“Hey! Why did you—!”

“Warboy.” A voice snapped, and it was that first woman, and when she stepped forward the moonlight hit her and Rachet thought it was that same woman - Deka - that he’d met in the council. She was holding up a bottle. “Stand down. What do you see?”

Rachet hunched his shoulders and curled up his fists, “An empty bottle.” It was taking a lot to hold back a retort but retorts hadn’t helped earlier today during the Remembering, and didn’t help when they talked with Ace after. He didn’t want to cause more trouble, but he was feeling mullish and awkward and confused. Those were the milk bottles that they’d begged and bartered for each Tenday, and they used all of it even with the breeders feedin' their pups, because there was no saving it, or it'd go bad. (because there was never enough). Maybe they’d needed to have given more for the pups or something, but the Warboys did the best they could.

He braced against being wrong, again. 

“Look closer though.” And she tipped the bottle in the light, and a drop of milk rolled across the bottom. 

“A… milk bottle?” He tried. 

She just stared at him and stuck the bottle closer to his face.

“...with a drop left?”

“Nutrients,” Deka nodded. “Just a bit, but even that helps when you have nothing. The milkwater will go to those most needful, whose piss is orange, and then the rest is traded.”

Rachet watched her tip a bit of aqua-cola into the bottle, swirl it around, and then carefully preserve the wash. He’d seen nothing in that bottle and yet.

The Wretched were surviving off it. The ‘empties’ that Warboys leave carelessly behind, that they then trade for again from Stuffs. 

“ Have the Wretched always done this?” At their nod, Rachet found himself saying, distressed, “I’ve never  _ seen _ you.”

“We’ve always been here in the crevices. People don’t like lookin’ at us, seeing us near their spaces,” Deka shrugged, “You take to blending in, because that’s how you survive. That’s what we’re all tryin’ to do in the end, right?”

“ And sometimes,” Desperate said, and in that moment she’d shed her new name, eyes intense and feral with memories, “Sometimes you’d do  _ anythin’ _ not to just blend in, but to rise.”

He remembered how much harder it had been before he got onto Furiosa's crew. Before there were people who looked out for him, who didn't tell him to stop being so jittery, so fiddly with things, who didn't mind explaining if he didn't get something as fast as the others and who liked him without irritation those times he did it faster. All Warboys knew that their lot was to survive long enough to blaze out chrome; it was hard and it hurt, but you were supposed to stay silent about it and strong. There was that secret sense though, that it should have been easier; that something wasn’t...quite right. That they should have had more. It was difficult being cold, and to live with water addiction and that tight crawl in your stomach, and it was easy to secretly think themselves brave for bearing it without complaint.

And yet these Wretched had even  _ less _ , and while Rachet may have known it distantly, it was another thing to see them treasuring what any Warboy would consider washwater.

Deka looked at him for a long moment. “Sometimes the little things go far. Things, people, you don’t think to notice.”

Rachet rubbed his thumb against his fingers and shifted his weight from foot to foot. His fingers itched to do something, to make something, to  _ fix _ something. 

“You really want to help out, don’t you?” Deka murmured, eyes thoughtful.

Rachet nodded quickly, something that he could just…  _ do _ , and get right.

She sat down by a bucket and waved him off to fetch her the strays, bottles that have been missed, and Rachet felt oddly glad for it, even if Deka had him darting all over the large room, her eyes sharper in the darkness than his. There weren’t many left, but he found himself more focused after he’d dropped the last of it off.

“Thank you,” Deka said, and Des gave him a quick smile up from her own work, and Rachet’s shoulders relaxed with it. “Think you can answer something for me though?”

“Yeah?”

“You really wanted to help us, or you just avoiding something that needs seeing to?”

He took a step backwards. “I…  _ how _ _?_ ”  _ did she know? _

“How to see to it? Like I said, sometimes the little things go far,” she replied, which ignored his question for his actual question.

"Don't know how to help.. the other thing." Rachet said quietly, “Don’t even what a little thing could be.”

"Maybe start with just being there?" She didn’t look at him, and Rachet breathed a little easier with being given the space, “Could help just by sitting with the problem a little, until it comes to you.”

“ I… yeah.” Maybe that would be okay? He nodded, and got up to leave.

Paused.

Then turned back, embarrassed, “Did you want me to help you take—”

Des just laughed while Deka shoo’ed him away irritably, “We can carry these things just fine on our own.”

Rachet nodded again, and set his jaw and his shoulders, heading back even though each step felt like he was being torn multiple ways.

 

* * *

 

Austeyr smiled as Rachet settled in. He's been worried, this evening, about where they all were. They'd been so upset. Hell, _he_ was upset, still, with new knowledge and his own role in everything. 

He idly stroked his fingertips over the fuzz at Furiosa's temple. She was breathing clear, her body a warm, heavy weight against his chest. Kompass was still curled against her, alternately dozing and sulking.

Ace was on the other side of the room and that worried Austeyr, especially with the way the man was cleaning his M79 grenade launcher for what Austeyr was quite sure was the fourth time today. 

Furiosa had woken up a little at one point and mumbled Ace’s name, and where before Ace would already have been there, reassuring her, this time he'd just said "I'm here, Boss," and continued cleaning the M79. 

Rachet looked around furtively as he settled in, twitchy and uneasy in his skin like he was expecting a scolding but wasn't sure for what or where it would come from. He pulled his knees up to his chest and folded his arms around them, looking small and worried. 

Austeyr gave him a small smile. He wished Spool were here, his driver was always good for a chat. Or Morsov; he might know how to handle Ace in this mood. But Spool and Morsov and the others were in Valhalla, and those who remained were all together. For now, that had to be enough. 


End file.
